He Complimented My Appearance

At which point the conversation jumbles: Mr. Jordan says yes he is, one of the 2023 class; as I say yes ma'am, I joined in June; as she says how nice, is your wife nearby; as I say no ma'am, it's just me; to which she responds, oh, interesting, waffles and prime rib; as I look down and back up shrugging, yes, ma'am it's my birthday, I'm being extravagant; which she follows with no need to call me ma'am; and I say sorry but I'm Southern and you are Mr. Jordan's wife; at which point she dimples and the conversation pauses.

She rises and presents her hand advising it is her birthday too; at which I assiduously avoid over reacting as I gently shake it and wish her a very happy birthday; whereupon she turns toward Richard and introduces him as 'their son'; who is now gripping the chair so hard his knuckles are white but manages to give the slightest nod and a flicker of a smile.

I occasionally got to airlift what were affectionately known as special weapons. 'Handle like eggs' did not begin to describe how careful you had to be. I knew if I did not get the hell out of there in the next three seconds, that chair was coming across the table.

I smiled, looked straight at him and said, "Oh hello." I was hoping against hope that I would not blush, which I always do. And of course, the adrenaline pump was already flowing wide open. Maybe they would pass it off to the impromptu meeting.

Mrs. Jordan, unaware of the pending catastrophe (the chair), then said she'd ask me to join them but it appeared I had a head start; to which I noted I indeed had a substantial one and was on the next to last lap; to which she replied I seemed fit enough to go a couple more times at which point Mr. Jordan, sensing a conversation was about to get under way cleared his throat, and I gave him the slightest of nods, stepping back and retrieving my hand, re-wishing her a very happy birthday, then turning to Richard I took two giant steps out on very thin ice, and said it was very nice to meet him, then turning to Mr. Jordan, I extended my hand and apologized for the intrusion. His grip was firm, and he smiled. And I faded.

Walking back to my table, an idea flickered, then coalesced and became alive. I waved to the first wait staff I saw, asked for the wine list, and then ordered champagne for their table. Second most expensive bottle, on purpose. $300 bill. But as Deadpool noted when he wasted two of his bullets on the guy who shot him in a tender place, "Worth It!!!"

I did not linger over the prime rib and then got some desserts to go; intent on disappearing before someone could no longer control his potential homicidal urges. There were lots of steak knives in the room. I walked around the Mall for a bit replaying the encounter over and over. Then as I headed to the car, I actually began hyperventilating while laughing out loud. The adrenaline depleted, I headed to the house.

A quick calculation said he'd be perturbed but with only 10 weeks or so left in my time here, why upset the balance.

----------

About 3:30, I got the second bill for the champagne. It was a lot more than the first one.

I had crashed on the couch, mindlessly watching the Broncos. A long ride, several buffet plates, and then the "encounter" meant I was moderately sedated.

The phone buzzed with an anonymous text message to "open the door right now", followed by a three-rap knock, then a pound.

Check the peep hole. Yep, it's him.

Deep breath. I crack the door.

He shoulders through, knocking me to the side.

"Richard," I exclaim in mock surprise. "How was the Brunch? Mom enjoy herself? You know she is just so very charming!"

He tossed his backpack on the chair and let loose without drawing a breath. I lost count of all the profanities, but there were more m-f's and g-d's and c-s's and gay slurs than there were actual words. The screed culminated in a kick aimed at my nethers, which I blocked.

Letting go of his foot, I then had to block a right cross aimed at my head. He stumbled.

"Truce?" I asked, holding up both hands.

He nodded, standing there panting.

"Look, it was complete happenstance. It could have gone any one of 12 ways. You arrive two minutes later, I walk a different way, we don't know each other, yada-yada-yada. But then shazam, there you were and well, I just did it."

"Yeah, well goody for you. Now she wants to invite you for Thanksgiving. And Mr. Big SVP of course had to tell her your resume and service record and how you were the most mature, hardworking, experienced new hire they'd had in like forever," he snapped.

"Sorry," I said, still on guard. "It was an impetuous moment, shared birthday, then seeing you. I've been trying to get to know you so I took a chance.

He flushed and let loose, "You work for me asshole. I didn't hire you because you were cute; I hired you because we could make money off your sissy aura and your tiny dick. And you were very susceptible to Victor's suggestions. I knew you worked for the shit-head at Martin and would get moved in January, at which point we're moving you over to my other group. So I had Victor keep you under control; quell your bi-curious advances, and keep you in the dark. Since I rarely attend his office Christmas party, you would never have known that fucker was my Father."

I was stunned. Sissy? Other group? What's all this?

Time to confront, "Yeah, about that, your and Victor's efforts to launder my memory quit working a few months ago."

He sneered, "Oh, you think? OK, let's see. SUBMIT to me and get on your knees."

I just looked at him and grinned, "Nope."

He sneered in response, "Yeah that was for show. Victor knew you overheard us, so he started adding subliminals. Try this on for size, you SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT, kneel now.

I blinked and wobbled.

"Yeah," he sneered again, "You pathetic SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT. Kneel and open your mouth.

I was still wobbling.

"You can't fight it Charles, I own you, I control you. You're my SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT. A SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT does not resist, she SUBMITS like the SISSY SLUT she is. Now KNEEL and OPEN YOUR MOUTH.

I knelt and opened up.

He walked to me, dropping his pants and pulling out his cock.

With one hand he stuck his thumb in my mouth and then spread the saliva on my lips. With the other he pulled my head to his tip, brushing it against his lips.

"Just like you do with Ricco, suck me off," and then he leaned closer to me and whispered "SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT. No resistance, only obedience, only a desire to make me cum."

My ears were roaring, somewhere a voice was saying fight it, but I wanted his cock in my mouth. This was the first time I had ever seen it. That mixed with an unrealized attraction to him, made me want him as far in me as he could go. Whether it was his anger or his dominance, he was hard in short order. He started quivering and took him as deep as I could and then held him there. A few times of that, he grabbed my head and started moving his hips. Four jerks later he was done, and I was cleaning up the leftovers. He pushed me back, pulled up his pants and sat on the couch.

"You have bourbon? Scotch? Pour me a glass," he demanded.

I struggled to my feet. "Bourbon," I grunted as I went the kitchen.

"If you're expecting an apology for my reaction or the face fucking, it's not coming. As a matter of fact, when we finish this little chat, you're going to beg me to fuck your ass. So I'll share a little background with you to help the humiliation get way down deep."

"Victor recruited you because you met our needs, reasonably attractive, fit, slight, and reliable most of all. The majority of sex workers are as dependable as a fart. But you--military, Boy Scout, and so forth were a great catch. And then there's your small dick and gender confusion. We've developed you this far and with a little more of Victor's brain massage we could make you Trans in no time. We may still. But then you are Dad's prized recruit; he probably has the next 10 years of your career already mapped out. I don't owe him shit, but what the hell, no need to screw you over completely. Maybe we make you a weekend Trans-- yeah, I think you'll do just fine dearie."

He kept speaking, "Asshole shared he's thinking about keeping you here, but there would be a lot of travel out to the sites. Not the best for me as we lose up to 21 days a month of potential revenue. My CPA will bitch. But I can still whore you out any time you are in town. And then there's escort work in Vegas. So surprise, you're coming off the show. Hate to do that actually because we did well with you and Ricco. Just enough BDSM scenarios and you made such a cute victim. Porn on the internet changes quickly, but you kept the ratings up longer than we thought."

"So as pissed as I was at your little "hey, notice me" stunt, it got me motivated to move you further down the line. But now, it's fuck you time. So be the obedient SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT you are, get in the bedroom and undress. If you have lip gloss here, put some on."

"Yes, Sir," I said softly.

In the bedroom, I applied the lip gloss I had brought home earlier.

He was getting undressed, putting his clothes on the dresser.

"Just drop your clothes right there," he demands.

As I drop my pants he see the lace panties and thigh-highs.

"What's this?" he says.

"Well, Sir, it was my birthday, so I gave into temptation," I said.

"And they are comfortable?" he asked.

"Oh, Yes Sir," I replied, "Very."

"Leave them on and use those sexy lips to get me hard. SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT. Now," he demanded.

My cock flinched twice, my mouth was watering, and he was holding his cock up for me.

Moments later, he was hard. He jerked my head up, slapped my face and told me to get on all fours. I felt the cool, smooth, sensual sensation of the lube being applied and then his fingers -- 1-2-3--opening me. I started pushing back, trying to take him deeper, and he obliged. Then he withdrew and the tip was at my hole. As I had done many times with Ricco, I went slowly, matching his thrusts with back pressure, taking him a little further in each time, adjusting to his size. Like the SISSY I was, my only thought was his pleasure. Moving faster, 100% focused on the sensation of his cock, I squeezed and released in time to his rhythm--- which made him gasp. When I knew he was close, I moaned and wiggled and pushed back further. As he released, I did not stop. I kept thrusting, generating as much electricity as I could. He grunted hard and collapsed.

Pushing up, he looked at me as I remained on all fours, waiting for a command like the SLUT I was.

"Yeah," he said looking me over. "You'll be a good money maker for us. Now LISTEN to me you SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT, go get your phone and call Victor. Tell him you accept that you are a SISSY SUBMISSIVE SLUT and that you want to come see him tomorrow after work to begin the transition. Understood?"

I stood up, with my hands folded in front of my cock, and bowed my head slightly and said, "Yes Sir."

As he left to go to the bathroom, he said, "Keep the lingerie on until 10, then you can masturbate and go to bed."

Something inside me said the proper response was "Thank You Sir."

I did as instructed.

__________

Monday morning came as usual. A little sore, but I really did push the 60 miles. Vague glimpses of some personal pleasure time as a result of the thrill of wearing the lingerie were in the back of my mind.

Monday morning at 0755. There's a note on my desk to see Mr. Jordan at 0900.

Not as good as a note from Mrs. Jordan; not as bad as a pink slip.

Monday morning at 0855. I present for the appointment.

Monday morning at 0910. His secretary tells me to go in. Power play I wonder. Or maybe not as he is hanging up the phone.

"Charles, good to see you again," he says with what I hope is a wry grin.

"Good morning, Sir," I reply. I remain standing in front of the desk.

"From my Wife," he says as he tosses an envelope on the desk.

"Thank you Sir," I retrieve it.

A very pregnant pause follows.

"Is that all Sir?" I ask.

He clears his throat. "Sergeant--- I don't know whether to applaud you for a class move or chew your ass for a really ballsy one. Would you have sent your wing commander's wife champagne?"

I square up to the max, "No Sir, not as a general rule. But to be honest Sir, my last one was not from the same mold as most -- fighter pilot, had two MiGs. He would have applauded it. But then again, as an E-6, I could not have afforded it."

"So?" he asked.

"Spur of the moment Sir; otherwise, no excuse Sir. I did not mean to presume, Sir."

"Look son, I know your record. Combat action medal, went to airborne school to be a better loadmaster; made stan-eval in three years. That's not the resume of someone who takes casual risks," he observed.

"I know Sir, flying safety is paramount and will not be compromised for any reason," I rejoined.

"To state the obvious, we're in the risk assessment business, not risk taking. We think things through carefully," he lectured. This was a frequent theme of his Wednesday talks. When you are hauling other people's stuff, you have to be smart.

"Sir, it was just a spontaneous act given it was a shared birthday."

"Spontaneously calculated to hit on my wife in my presence? Or influence my decision on where to send you next?"

Returning to the questions posed, "Sir, no doubt your wife is clearly deserving of champagne on any occasion. As for the next assignment, if you truly thought I was being disingenuous or attempting to influence my next assignment, then my risk assessment skills are certainly suspect and I would expect an assignment to Thule to count rocks for the next four years. Instead, it was purely a spur of the moment decision. A surprise to add a little spice to the birthday party."

"Did you rehearse that this morning? If you were a green 20 something, I'd suspect an ulterior motive. But you know better. Anyway, we don't have a facility in Thule. We do in Minot, though. Nice place, actually."

"Went there a few times hauling things they did not want to come over ground," I noted.

"By the way, do you and Richard know each other? Mrs. Jordan thought there was a look between you?"

"Ah, no sir, probably just his reaction to some random guy intruding on the birthday lunch," I offered.

He looked at me sternly for a second, then cracked a smile. "Come over here Sergeant."

I followed him to the book case in the corner. He pointed to a photograph. It was him and several other folks in fatigues in the sandbox during the first Gulf War. Captain's bars were on his collar.

"437th Supply. You were in the 14th right? My Dad was in the 41st a long time ago."

"Great place, great mission. Thanks for your service, Sir,"

"Likewise," he said offering his hand.

Still holding it, he said somewhat sternly, "OK, that's all in the past, but know I know what you are capable of."

We wandered back to the desk.

"So my Wife wants to invite you for Thanksgiving---you know, holiday season, single guy."

"That's most generous but my Mother has only herself, and I was overseas a lot, and then grad school was 16-7. Please convey my regrets."

"That was expected," he said. Then cryptically, "Thanks for acknowledging her birthday; children should do that."

__________

My head was on full spin cycle all morning. What have I gotten myself into? And here's Mr. Jordan talking like a mentor, not an SVP six levels above me on the org chart. I may just be well and truly fucked.

IV. THE DIVISION CHRISTMAS PARTY AND SOME MORE BROWNIES

I called Victor and arranged to see him Monday evening. He was apologetic, but firm. I was an asset and needed to be prepared for the next stage just like any other resource.

When I got there, he told me to get undressed and sit in front of a large screen. Head phones were placed and electrodes were applied to my breasts and scrotum. He gave me a glass of water, and watched while I drank it all. He told me I was a good boy and sensually massaged my neck and shoulders. Then the video started. I fell into the screen and was only vaguely aware of the warmth and voltage jumps in the electrodes. It wasn't so much overwhelming as it was steady and persistent. Somewhere at the start I wondered how he knew all this; he's a make-up artist. And then I recalled how sensual it felt when he once made up my eyes, and I descended a couple more steps.

At the end, Vincent helped me dress. As he made sure I was safe to drive, he kept asking if I was Gay, if I was obedient, if I was as Submissive Sexy Slut. I respectfully and submissively affirmed each question. He gave me a long French kiss at the door. I returned it passionately. I must be sexy; that's the first affection he has ever shown me.

I underwent the reinforcement the next three weeks, every Monday-Tuesday-Thursday. Each week Victor added more stimulation---a small dildo gag and then different sizes of anal vibrators. The effect was noticeable as I would orgasm at least twice, sometimes three times during the session. Showing him I was fully embracing the change, I asked him to do my eyes and lips.

And the training showed up in the Saturday shows as my character was cast as far more submissive than ever before.

I had thoughts of seducing Victor, but could never do more than kiss him each time I left. A test of conditioning perhaps. Anyway, the guy had been like an uncle/coach to me as I got used to the porn work. Sure Uncle Ralph and friends fucked me as much as they could, but Victor never gave me a hint he was available, much less making a pass.

The really hard part was maintaining a "guy" persona at work. Most of the folks came up through the warehouse or the road, bookkeepers not so much though, but even a lot of ladies were of the physical labor mind set -- running forklifts and being on the road---before getting a job inside. It's a great company; I'm where I belong.

But on the runs and rides when my mind wandered, I noticed guy's legs and asses more than I ever did. Funny, I knew it was happening, and I was OK with it as long as I kept it separate.

----------

The Division Christmas Party was the second Saturday of December. Richard and Victor had put the shows on reruns until January, which is good as you pretty much needed a doctor's note to not make the party.

That afternoon Richard texted instructions as to my appearance. Fresh haircut, manicure, blazer, pink shirt, khakis, burgundy lace open back panties, seamed thigh-highs and loafers. I was to chat with men only, avoid women.

Some things could not be avoided. Mrs. Jordan introduced me to her friends as the mysterious champagne benefactor. A couple offered to give me their birth dates; a couple asked where my wife was; Mrs. Jordan advised that Richard would be here shortly and might be bringing a couple of friends.

I mingled some with my fellow new-hires and as instructed focused on the men in any conversation.

A little before eight, Richard had arrived. I saw him across the room. There were two fellows with him, both about our age. He waved me over and then started to head for the door that lead out to the deck. His Mother intercepted us and introduced herself to the guests and then she was almost fawning at Richard and I apparently being friendly. Richard was noncommittal, I was effusive.